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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451171">fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth'>VerdantMoth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Clint and his perch, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious Bucky, Smoking, Valentine's Trivia, platonic ClintTasha, sappy boys in love, self destructive behavior</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:49:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint throws something at his head. It’s a wrought iron key, like one to a creepy old mansion with a large loop on one end. Except where the key part should be, there’s a solid heart instead. “Don’t get any ideas. Technically Saint Valentine’s keys are for kids with epilepsy. Figured it might help insomnia-laced tremors in mean, traumatized super soldiers.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s always been the worst feeling, the constant spiral of falling. Like being sucker punched in the gut, all twisty, swoopy belly twisting and lungs filled with ice and that brain fog, galaxy mist. That impending sense of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>splat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s only ever satisfied by the connection connection of body and surface</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it’s physical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it’s… less than physical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, Bucky finds the highest, most precarious ledge and fits himself right there on the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, Barton usually finds him there, plops down or hangs from his knees, and offers him a cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them really like to smoke. But it’s something to do, a way to hide trembling hands and panicked breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cold,” Clint sometimes grumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Bucky agrees. He doesn’t leave the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barton sits closer the next time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they’re not quite in each other’s space, not quite touching, but there’s still a little heat radiating at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know that St. Valentine might’ve cured his jailor’s daughter’s vision?” Clint mumbles one night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a rare night of snowfall, soft, fluffy white clumps landing in thick batches on everything. Bucky thinks it looks pretty, haunting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Icy shards of glass falling to the ground, glittering seductively. “What the fuck, Barton?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint yawns again, swaying into Bucky. He takes back his cigarette, frowning at the burnt out nub. “Bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, it’s Bucky swaying. When the nights are long, the nightmares are too tangible, and his eyes are nothing more than swollen, purple bags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint always finds him with a lit cigarette and a black heart attack in a cardboard cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The first ‘St. Valentine’ is actually at least two guys,” Clint informs him cheerily, despite the blood pouring from his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky reaches across and says, “hold your breath,” before jerking the cartilage back into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint cusses up a storm and Bucky grins into his liquid heart attack. Clint pays him back by wiping dried blood on Bucky’s admittedly disgusting shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Asshole,” Bucky sighs deeply. But he passes the coffee back and takes the offered cigarette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes they sit quietly for hours. The sun sets and the night is dark, nothing but the stars twinkling and the sound of really fucking obnoxious traffic and sirens below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the sun will rise, all orange and red and bloody looking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky usually leaves first. There’s just something too… </span>
  <em>
    <span>personal</span>
  </em>
  <span> about watching a sunrise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint will follow him on occasion. Walk silently by his side until they split to their separate rooms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky hides on the edge of the tower almost always. He stares at the ground and even though he’s there, he’s stationary, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>falling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Belly swoop nausea always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is no record that soldiers weren’t allowed to marry. In fact, they were encouraged to take 2 or 3 women,” Clint says once. He looks a little...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sad. Huh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you have Natasha. You had Bobbi. Who you goin after for the 3rd?” Bucky asks. And maybe it’s a little mean, poking old wounds like that. But. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint doesn’t say anything. He drops a pack of Marlboro midnights in Bucky’s lap and disappears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky almost feels bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint throws something at his head. It’s a wrought iron key, like one to a creepy old mansion with a large loop on one end. Except where the key part should be, there’s a solid heart instead. “Don’t get any ideas. Technically Saint Valentine’s keys are for kids with epilepsy. Figured it might help insomnia-laced tremors in mean, traumatized super soldiers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky eyes the stupid thing, then carefully tucks it into his breast pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As suddenly Clint starts showing up to Bucky’s perch, he stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So of course Bucky has to go find him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not because he cares, but there’s the whole teammate thing and no man left behind or whatever bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds Clint huddled up under all of his blankets in his room. He knocks, and JARVIS opens the door which means he’s allowed in the room, but Clint doesn’t move at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky wanders in anyway and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. “Why Saint Valentine’s trivia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s the patron saint of plagues,” Clint mumbles from his blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Bucky says in lack of understanding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love is a plague,” Clint adds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you and ‘Tash were just friends?” Bucky comments confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew. Not her,” Clint grunts. It’s the most emotion he’s had this whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then… who?” Bucky asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint doesn’t respond. Bucky waits long enough that he starts drifting before he accepts Clint won’t answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think they call it </span>
  <em>
    <span>falling in love</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Clint announces when he startles Bucky in the kitchen. “Because no matter how it ends, there’s a crash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Bucky grunts into his cereal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You crash and burn,” Clint sighs, “or you crash but it’s the best kind. That sort of rest that comes after all exhilaration ebbs away. A pure, restful crash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re losing me,” Bucky points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Myself too,” Clint groans, head slamming into the cabinets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, Bucky’s sitting on the edge of the tower, swinging his legs. He sways forward, and imagines the ground coming up. Clint joins him, sits there quietly, too close, but welcomed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter if you fall,” Bucky tells him softly, gently. “As long as someone is there to catch you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint looks at him cautiously, and Bucky shamelessly grabs his hand and holds it tight. “Even if we fall, we’ll catch each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not entirely possible, in this current situation.” Clint points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, we will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint leans into him. He kisses Bucky, catches the edge of his jaw, all beard and off center, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky falls, swift and swoopy, and entirely unregrettably, into love.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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